tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30014650932424215862018-03-02T08:35:47.932-08:00The point is to change itLearning and teaching in Guyana for two years...glad to have you along for the ride!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-15256872109726732452013-04-04T09:53:00.000-07:002013-04-04T09:53:18.536-07:00An Epilogue, of sorts<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> 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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style><![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">This will be my last post on this blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>For those who don't know, I'm flying home on April 11 and returning to live with my family on Long Island for a few short weeks before grad school begins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I'm enrolled in a Literacy Specialist master's program at Fordham University, and I'll be living in Brooklyn, so if you're in New York get in touch!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Admittedly, I haven't updated this blog that often, but I've realized that blogging is something I enjoy doing, and something that will be much easier to keep up in the U.S...so, just to try it out, I'm going to continue blogging at <a href="http://www.howiaddwings.blogspot.com/"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: HI; mso-fareast-language: HI;">www.howiaddwings.blogspot.com</span></a>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span>It'll still be a little bit of “look at these unique things I'm doing,” but a lot more of “this is what I think about stuff.”' If you've enjoyed reading my Peace Corps blog over the past two years, check it out! </div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-46616453145807188822013-04-04T09:51:00.000-07:002013-04-04T09:51:05.369-07:00Counting the Days<div class="MsoNormal">(Written March 9, 2013)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It's twenty minutes after ten at night, and the mission is silent save for the chirping of frogs and insects, the occasional barking dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>The village generator has just cut off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It's located scant yards from our house, and its loud, mechanical sound becomes white noise soon after it begins running at dusk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Because of the noise, you watch TV a little louder than you would otherwise, but you're not really aware of it until it's gone.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Actually, that's wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There are some drunk men walking by my house, so it's not silent anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But they're not particularly rambunctious ones this time. I recognize the voice of a young man they call Dummy, who is deaf and almost mute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>He communicates primarily through an invented sign language that his friends seem to understand with little trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I'm always impressed at how socially at ease he is despite his disability, and, despite his politically incorrect call name, how accepting the community is of him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I climb into bed with my flashlight and tuck in my mosquito net, something I've done hundreds of times over the past few years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It's something I'll only do a few dozen more before I leave Guyana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">No more generator, no more mosquito nets, no more sitting in the dark after the current cuts out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No more running with bare feet down a sandy road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No more greeting everyone I pass with a “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” or “Good night.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No more phlourie, roti or cook-up rice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No more outhouses, no more bucket baths. No more walks thorough the scheme with students shouting a chorus of “Miss Kelly!” “Miss Kelly!” out of the windows of brightly coloured houses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(Oh, that reminds me, no more British spellings, either.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I may be going home to warm running water and pizza, to a place where people respect my privacy, to schools with enough desks and books and teachers for all of their students, to the land of microwaves and electricity 24/7 and flushing toilets, and my family, and my friends...but more present in my mind at the moment are the people and things I'll leave behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I've built a life here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Two years is an awfully long time to spend in one place, especially a place with people as warm and accepting as Guyana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When people here ask me if I'll miss mission, I tell them of course I will—it's become my second home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This has become a line for me, but it's true all the same.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My two years in Guyana have been the most emotionally tumultuous of my life, without a doubt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I can't honestly say whether there's been more tears or laughter, but I can say there's been a lot of both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And, fortunately, as the end draws near, I find it easier to appreciate the little joys of life in Guyana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I find it easier to let things go, to forgive people for not living up to my expectations, to forgive myself for not living up to my expectations and to try just living, instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">So I will relish in Sharlene's infectious laughter, in the smile of baby Arielle, whose mother wasn't even pregnant yet when I came here but is now growing teeth, as she grips my finger with her tiny hand. I will be grateful that I can share my love of running with the myriad teenagers that join me now and again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I will admire Benji's determination and Lorena's fierce dedication to her kids and her future. I will relax into the easy comfort of gaffing and laughing with Shabana. I will marvel at Wendy's gifts of empathy, and at my unbelievable luck for choosing her house to live in back when I barely even knew her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I will visit those people in my community whose company makes my days brighter, and I will cherish the fact that I've been fortunate enough to live in a place where it's difficult to stay lonely—just go for a walk and see who says hello.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">For this last week of school, I will not stress and I will not raise my voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I will read stories, sing songs, give and receive hugs, and do as much as I can to show these kids that I think they're awesome. I will give the teachers of St. Cuthbert's Primary School the credit they deserve for working pretty damn hard for those awesome kids, all things considered, because the system doesn't make that easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I will swim in the blackwater as often as I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I will go for walks and breathe in the beauty of this still largely unspoiled place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I will accept everything that is offered to me gracefully and gratefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And yes, I will count the days left until I fly back to New York, but not out of simple anticipation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I will do this to remind myself to soak up the last sweet drops of this experience while I still can. </div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-30504138437072017162013-02-15T03:26:00.003-08:002013-02-15T03:26:49.113-08:00Christmas Holiday, Part II<br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After Christmas I travelled to Wakapao, a remote community made up of many small islands where a fellow Peace Corps volunteer works. Wakapao is arguably the most beautiful place I've visited in Guyana. After three bus rides and two boat rides, I reached Charity, a medium-sized town at the mouth of the Pomeroon river. A speedboat took me down the Pomeroon, which was uneventful until we turned abruptly at a small tributary. Zooming down a ten-foot-wide jungle creek overhung with branches was exhilarating, but nothing could have prepared me for the spacious beauty of Wakapao. Wide open grassland flooded with water lay ahead as far as I could see, but occasionally to our left and right we would see a small landing or the glimpse of a house, the only real clear that the area is inhabited. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Transportation in Wakapao is by water, whether in a motorboat or by paddling. My friend Leslie even has to paddle to and from her job at the health center! It seems as though everyone in Wakapao has a boat, and children begin learning to paddle dugout canoes as toddlers. Paddling is not as easy as you might think—these wooden canoes are not balanced, so most of your effort goes into keeping them straight, at least when you're learning! (I say this from experience—I was fortunate enough to get a paddling lesson from a friend of Leslie's. It's fun but hard to do!)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> My stay in Wakapao was a fairly chill one. We had a pizza night with some other volunteers who were spending the holidays, walked through a swamp on precariously balanced planks of wood to get to a wedding, drank homemade ginger wine, played board games, and met a baby monkey.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Leslie has a really cool project starting up this month: her village has teamed up with Engineers beyond Borders to build two roads through the swamps that connect some of the major islands in Wakapao. Though the village's riveren location makes it beautiful and its transportation requirements are novel, it is in all honesty a huge pain in the ass to have to traipse through a swamp just to visit a neighbor, or to have to pay for gas for your motorboat so your kids can get to school. The roads will make travel in Wakapao much easier, and it's a project the village has been discussed for years. Kudos to Leslie for making it happen!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> I was sad to leave Wakapao but had promised friends in my village that I'd come back for Old Year's Night, so I took the long and complicated trip back through Georgetown to St. Cuthbert's Mission on July 31<sup>st</sup>. Yes, you heard me right, Old Year's—it makes sense, doesn't it? You have to celebrate the last night of the old year before you can celebrate the first night of the New Year! I got all dolled up to go out in the mission, thanks to my coworkers—dress from the grade two teacher, shoes from the grade three teacher, makeup courtesy of the grade four teacher. Thanks ladies! At first I thought I got dressed up for nothing, because the village-council-sponsored party (held in the primary school) was pretty dead, even at 11:55...they were playing Christmas music. I was ashamed. But apparently the party doesn't start here until after midnight on Old Years, and once it got started it was a lot of fun! I stayed out dancing till 5am, which was a first for me, and thoroughly enjoyed spending the night with the people I'm closest with in the mission.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> There was one more noteworthy event that occurred during my Christmas holiday. The “Biggest Loser” program that I started back in November concluded on January 31<sup>st.. </sup>I didn't run any sort of exercise class, just encouraged ladies to sign up and casually discussed healthy ways to lose weight. They paid a small fee to register and the three biggest losers won prize money. Of 11 registrants, 8 lost weight, with the top four losing over 5 lbs each in 6 weeks! Perhaps best of all, when I asked them if they wanted to run the program again, I heard enthusiastic yes's all around. They seemed to really like the cooperative/competitive atmosphere that this program brought to the daily struggle of trying to live a healthy lifestyle. Next weigh-in is in 2 weeks, and I'm wondering who will be the biggest loser this time around!</div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-1079237742113928042013-01-15T17:21:00.002-08:002013-01-15T17:21:23.580-08:00Christmas Holiday, Part I<br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the Guyanese school system, the Christmas holiday is long...three weeks long, to be precise, and it was an eventful three weeks!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The holiday season was kicked off by the “school party,” which is a tradition in the schools here. Kids pay upwards of $7 U.S. each to come to school dressed up in fancy clothes, stuff themselves with food and get some sort of toy as a gift. (To put that in perspective, that's about a full day's pay for a teacher here. I was surprised that almost all of my class paid!) The teachers and students work together to decorate the classrooms and the chalkboard dividers are removed so the school functions as one big hall. The morning of the school party was a whirlwind spent gathering together the various dishes made by parents and making homemade pizza for my whole class. The party itself felt like it was over as soon as it began—none of the kids liked the pizza (thought the teachers did!) and my attempt at Pin the Nose on Rudolph was largely ignored as the kids clamored for their gifts, but I was pulled aside by several parents who wanted to photograph me with their children in front of the Christmas tree! Most importantly the kids seemed to have a good time, even though almost all of them ran away before the dance party started. (That was fun to watch, too, especially the grade 6 students who you could tell wanted to dance but stood around awkwardly for ages before they actually did. Brought back fond memories of middle school dances. Well, maybe less than fond.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The very next day was a Christmas concert, and by concert I mean talent show. I rehearsed my third graders to sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and 15 of them turned up to have their noses painted red and wear antlers that I spent far too many hours assembling. But it was worth it because they were adorable—wish I had a video but at least I was able to get a picture from a random guy in the audience. I don't think the audience appreciated them as much as I did, though—they preferred the second grade girl who danced “Bruk it Down” solo on stage. Maybe it's just me, but I think singing cute songs in costume is a more appropriate talent show activity for 7 year olds than humping the air on stage? Call it a cultural difference, I suppose.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After a few lazy days in St. Cuthbert's and a night of karaoke in a village near mine, I was off on my first trip, to Wakenam, a small island on the Essequibo River. It's less than two hours away from the capital, and one of my teacher friends is from there, so I decided to visit her for the holidays. Highlights from the trip: eating 3 Guyanese fruits I've never had before (coco, papoose and tamarind—Wakenam has tons of fruit trees!), eating custard made from fresh cows milk (the first time I've had fresh milk in Guyana—the norm here is powdered), meeting lots of Shabana's neighbors and her husband, and getting stung by a hairy worm while climbing a tree over the river (ok, maybe not a highlight but still noteworthy!) My stay in Wakenam was short, only a weekend, and I hope to go back before I leave Guyana!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I came back to St. Cuthbert's for Christmas, which was a pretty laid-back day. Guyanese clean their houses top to bottom for Christmas and some decorate with “fairy lights” or garlands, but overall Christmas is not nearly as huge in Guyana as it is in the U.S. Mainly it's about family and eating—fruitcake and pepperpot (a kind of stew) are the most&nbsp;common&nbsp;Christmas foods, and I got to sample lots of those two foods because I spent most of my day visiting neighbors who I'm close with. I tried to share my own traditional Christmas treat—cookies—but making them without an oven was...tricky. I also attended a wedding on Christmas day, believe it or not!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">(to be continued...)</div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-6670780076486242812012-11-04T13:43:00.000-08:002012-11-04T15:43:10.721-08:00Now THIS is some freaky stuff.<br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There are many names for it: catching jumbie, antebanta, catching spirit...or, for the pseudo-intellectual who doesn't want to sound backwards, there are euphemisms like “sickness” or “the problem.” In American terms, teenagers at the high school in my village are believed to be possessed.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">One girl jumped off a second-story balcony. (She was uninjured.) Others have tried to rip their clothes off, have said strange things, wriggled around on the floor like a snake, claimed to see or feel things that aren't there, or have become physically violent. Most withdraw, some into a completely nonresponsive state. Some cry or feel physically sick. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Bullshit, right? A Westerner might say that these students are simply faking it for attention. One case and it could be epilepsy, but with dozens of students affected, it must just be a ploy to get out of class.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Honestly, I don't know what to believe. The first girl to be affected, months ago, was a student I knew well, and I assumed that it was a psychological issue, perhaps the result of some trauma that no one knows about. When so many students were affected, part of me scoffed at the idea of a spirit controlling what a child does. I didn't take it very seriously. But then I was at the school when a student “got sick,” and I watched him as he laid down and gradually stopped responding to anything, finally arriving at a state where not even his eyes were moving. If he was acting, he needs to be nominated for an Academy Award, because it sure looked real to me.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I encountered it firsthand again today. The new thing now is “little people”...several children have claimed to see people a foot or two tall around the village. THAT I couldn't help but laugh at. Then today, two boys “saw a little man come out of the blackboard” (mind you, another teacher interrupted my class to bring this to my attention, because she didn't know what to do). Subsequently, the boys started acting strangely. They were sent home but came back after lunch, and one boy, about 11 years old, “relapsed.” The teacher came to me, exasperated and probably a little scared. She was supervising two classrooms, the boys' class teacher was absent, and she just didn't know what to do about it. I figured I couldn't just leave the kid freaking out, so I left my class and walked over to find him standing in the sand with tears running down his face while the rest of the class watched on. Uhhh. Peace Corps training didn't cover this.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So I shooed his classmates away, and, agnostic that I am, instructed the kid to bless himself and say the Our Father. I didn't really know what else to do. That's how the Ministry of Education handles it—they send in people to pray for the kids. (One woman suggested wiping the whole school down with garlic water. I'm not sure if that plan was actually executed.) </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My proximity to this situation isn't making me believe in the supernatural. I wouldn't bet my life on the non-existence of spirits, but I think it's about a million times more likely that there's a scientific explanation for this phenomenon that we just don't understand. There's apparently something known as “teenage hysteria” that this completely fits into...unfortunately, psychologists aren't too sure about what exactly causes it. (Google for more information. It's pretty weird.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Anyway, the one thing I am fairly certain about when it comes to kids catching jumbie is that it's all in their heads. So, to fix it, you need to work within their patterns of thought. If the kid believes he's possessed by a demon, make him pray. It worked, sort of—I couldn't get him to walk or talk before we prayed, but he whispered the prayer along with me and afterward I was able to walk him over to the side to sit down. Fifteen minutes later he was playing with his friends again. Kelly Cahill, Peace Corps Volunteer and Exorcist? I need to start carrying around a Bible and a vial of holy water.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It takes a lot of mental effort to not scream “I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON AND IT'S WEIRD BUT IT'S NOT SPIRITS!” when people are talking about antebanta. I try my best to be culturally sensitive and only when asked do I share my opinion that it's baffling but, I'm certain, psychological. This afternoon the side of science/reason/logic got some points when the first set of boys who saw the little men (they weren't psychologically affected) were interrogated and admitted that they made the whole thing up. Almost makes me admire the 13-year-olds who managed to freak out a whole village full of adults. Hey, there's not much to do in the mission, they gotta get their laughs somehow...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iHj0EPqV2vc/UJbf_Qb1nzI/AAAAAAAAAAc/3GTETGaCHa8/s1600/imported+nov+4+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iHj0EPqV2vc/UJbf_Qb1nzI/AAAAAAAAAAc/3GTETGaCHa8/s320/imported+nov+4+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-18090045576943001602012-10-12T17:41:00.001-07:002012-11-05T08:27:17.396-08:00Amerindians, speaking up!<br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As you probably know if you're reading this, I live in an Amerindian village in Guyana. Amerindians comprise something like 12% of Guyana's population and live mostly in the interior of the country. They are Guyana's indigenous people.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the past 50 years modern development has significantly impacted the lives of Amerindians in villages like mine, those with relatively easy access to the more developed coastal areas. Here, houses are made of wood, cement, and zinc, no more roofs made of leaves. A few villagers follow the laborious process to make cassava bread and sell it around the community, but it's not a staple food for most families anymore. Arawak, the native language, is spoken fluently by only a few old people, although fly and bombali, the traditional alcoholic drinks, are still going relatively strong. The extent to which traditional ways of life have disappeared in Amerindian villages varies widely from community to community, and there are surely remote villages relatively untouched by modern development. There are Peace Corps volunteers in places like that, and their experiences in Guyana are vastly different from mine. But in St. Cuthbert's Mission , the idea of living in a “developing country” seems very literal, because I can see it all around me—this place is DEVELOPING, and often that means out with the old and in with the new.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The idea of a traditional culture fading away in the short span of a few generations has an unpleasant sound to it, though it's difficult to put your finger on exactly why. Culture should be preserved because...well, because it's in these people's history, it's part of their heritage, it's something to be proud of, and it's a travesty to see that slip away, isn't it? But if it's not useful anymore, is there really any reason to hold onto it, other than romanticism? The Arawak language may very well be dead in a few more generations, and a language dying sounds like such a bleak event, akin to a species becoming extinct. But if the people in question can still communicate, what's the loss, really? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Anyway, this is all a preface to a specific story I wanted to share...though I'm not there yet. More preface: Guyanese (Amerindian or otherwise) are not known for their political correctness, and for every ethnic group there exists a racial slur or three, often used in everyday conversation. Amerindians are buck people—buck man, buck girl, whatever—and supposedly the term came about because when Europeans first came to Guyana, Amerindians turned and ran like deer. Not the most inappropriate racial slur ever, and many Amerindians use it among themselves positively (as a volunteer, you know you're successfully integrated when an Amerindian calls you buck), but you can see how it could be used negatively, too.<br /><br />***EDIT:&nbsp; I had some wrong information!&nbsp; A commenter informed me that "buck" actually comes from the Dutch word "bok," which means goat. It was a name given to Amerindians for their surefootedness and ability to live on any food and survive.&nbsp; My apologies! ***</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I bring up the term “buck” because, no matter how much the physical dressings of culture change, there are nuances that are more ingrained in the way people deal with the world around them. Associated with racial slurs are stereotypes, like buck people ignorant, buck people stupid, buck people timid. It's that last one I want to touch upon. Imagine the stereotypical Native American—reserved and stoic, doesn't talk much...there's some truth in that in what I see here, especially in people who haven't left the village much. Often you can tell who's lived out of the village for a few years and who hasn't by their demeanor. Once you crack the shell and start to get to know people, Amerindians are can be just as lively as anyone else, but in the public sphere there's a marked difference. For instance, at meetings, the vast majority of attendees come to sit and listen and nod. After the meeting is over, they'll talk and talk to someone they're close to, but at meetings they're like the kids in my class...they assume the role of passive audience, like the kids in my class often assume that their job is simply to copy whatever I write on the board into their exercise books. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The rabble rousers exist, though—and finally I arrive at my point! My school was redone over the summer. We were promised new paint, new floors, and overall a nicer-looking school. Sadly, the contractors, who were hired by our region's Ministry of Education office and came from outside of my village, did an astoundingly crappy job. Forget the messy paint and the doors that won't close cleanly (which means the school is now impossible to lock)--the cement cap on the floor was mixed wrong, and the whole floor is covered in a layer of cement dust that gets all over the kids' clothes and is probably quite unhealthy to be inhaling all day. It can't simply be swept away—new dust comes out of the floor as soon as you sweep.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The teachers complained to each other for a few weeks, and our HM complained to the regional office, whose response was “send a picture.” A picture...of dust? That wasn't going to get us anywhere, and at the rate that region gets stuff done, we were looking at a new floor in a year, maybe, if we went that route. So, as a staff, we decided to take a more drastic step. We sent home the kids one day, called in the parents and had a meeting to discuss the situation. The parents were pretty unhappy with how the school looked and it was discussed whether the parents should keep their kids home to avoid the health hazard and to make a point to region—as in, “You need to fix the school, <i>now</i>, because we can't go on like this.” Fortunately, all that was needed was a phone call to the ministry from an angry parent who threatened to “take the matter further” if something wasn't done immediately (i.e. contact the media)...and guess what? The contractor and someone from Region came in the very next day, with a promise to recap the floor, now! True, this means that for the next three weeks we have to deal with the inconvenience of holding classes in random buildings around the community. But the bigger point is this: outlying Amerindian communities often get screwed over, because they're out of the way and easy to ignore and the outside parties doing the screwing over assume that no Amerindian is going to complain to the higher authorities. But my village proved them wrong when they demanded a school that's not a health hazard—and they got it! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This isn't just an isolated incident. The village election that happened a few months ago was a close race, and the ballot counting happened publicly, which allowed community members to count ballots along with the officials. The official result was not in line with the number that the people were getting, and they caused a huge ruckus and demanded a recount, got it—and sure enough, turned out the people were right and the officials were wrong. There was even a small protest staged in the community concerning that election. Buck people timid, you sure about that?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As a Peace Corps volunteer, I'm not supposed to get involved in stuff like this, and despite my history with politics and my affinity for sticking it to the man, I try my best to comply. All I can do is sit on the sidelines and encourage people to stand up for themselves and what their village deserves, and share in the joy that they feel when they realize that a positive change is happening because, buck or not, they stood up together and demanded justice. &nbsp;&nbsp;</div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-40733167832725364062012-10-06T09:08:00.000-07:002012-10-06T09:08:00.740-07:00Ready, set, school!After two whirlwind weeks home, including a drag show bachelorette party and Ashley's beautiful, fun and in every other way awesome wedding...I'm back in Guyana! Wonder of wonders, our school is actually OVERSTAFFED this year (can't they ever get their numbers right??) which works out OK because one teacher is on maternity leave. So from now till Christmas, I'm teaching grade 3. 32 8-year-olds sounds crazy, but they're a good class to work with, excited to learn and well-behaved, and I'm enjoying teaching them so far.<br />My village's Amerindian Heritage celebration is coming up soon, which means hundreds of people will visit, get drunk on fly and bombali (potato and cassava wine) and party till the sun comes up. Last year lots of Peace Corps volunteers came in, and some are coming this year, too...should be a good time.<br /><br />After that, it's Sports Day, which is a cross between an elementary school track meet and a field day. We spend the last hour of school in practice, holding tryouts and marching in formation, three days a week for a month. I suppose it compensates for the fact that otherwise, we have no phys ed...? Kids throughout the school who are not on my team are already trash talking me when they pass me in school.<br />What else, what else...I'm starting up after-school lessons at the secondary school for kids who are really poor readers (i.e. second grade reading level or below) and the HM is going to work with me on it...she's really interested in learning about phonics, apparently. Win! I've been doing diagnostics this week, so the lessons should start next week. When I talk to the kids one-on-one, they seem pretty interested in improving their reading, which was a surprise but maybe shouldn't have been. I can't imagine how hard it must be for them to go through even just a day of high school with the reading skills of a first grader. I'm a bit nervous that the “cool” teenage mindset is going to take over when I have them in a group, and they'll just goof off and won't take it seriously. I'll make it as engaging and non-babyish as I can, and having the HM on my side should be a help, too.<br />Having no internet in my village...kinda sucks. I miss talking to people from home. I mean, I'm surviving, and I can handle it much better now than I would've been able to in the beginning, but it's still annoying. It's completely derailed this craft selling project, and also makes applying to grad school difficult. Fortunately I live close to the capital, and I can use the internet on my monthly trip in.<br />Six months left. Nuts. Now, dear reader, you're just about up-to-date on my life, although this post WAS written on September 20th. Stay tuned for more!<br /><br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-75685233137460875322012-09-29T09:00:00.000-07:002012-09-29T09:00:06.405-07:00The point is not to change it, and other musingsMy last post was basically a life summary, something I feel obliged to give. Trips, project progress, that kind of stuff. This one is different, introspective. Just a warning.<br /><br /><br />Peace Corps service has given me a lot of time to sit with myself, especially during holidays when I can't lose myself in schoolwork. Things aren't always sunny in sunny Guyana. In high school I had my busy routine to insulate me from loneliness; in college, with my awesome friends, there was no space to be lonely. Here in Guyana, there is nothing but space, time. I've battled with self-criticism and depression over the past few months, and it's been a tough fight, but I think I'm growing stronger for it.<br /><br />Another thing: the title of this blog is a lie. The point is not to change it. Make change the prize and keep your eye on the prize, and you won't see anything else. Live to fix things, and everything will look broken. I did that for a while, and it was miserable. (Still do it, and often, but less than before.)<br /><br />So what is the point? The point is to be here, to be as here as I can. And change is part of this, but so are good conversations, so is giving an honest hug, laughter, watching the sunset. I am here when I smile at the baby staring at the strange lady with white skin, forgive the men sipping me because they don't even realize it offends me, appreciate the teacher who showed up to substitute for my summer school class instead of berating the one who didn't.<br /><br />Being here means that when I realize that I'm wrong about something, I stop focusing on covering my ass and instead look to see how this new information changes the way I'd been looking at a situation. It means turning off the problem-solving voice in my head for a minute or two to just listen. One cannot be a force for positive change without a commitment to deep understanding, and one cannot understand without being here.<br /><br />I will never give up on wanting things to be better. The challenge is striking a balance between striving for progress and recognizing that the world, however flawed, is whole, not broken.<br /><br />Yeah, that's the point. But all that would be way too long for a blog title, so we'll leave it as is.<br /><br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-81271925156418785292012-09-22T09:05:00.003-07:002012-09-22T09:05:37.860-07:00Old news(Wrote this post almost a month ago, before my trip home. Finally posting it!)<br /><br /><br />This happened last year, too...where did summer vacation go? It's the end of August, summer school's done, and in less than 24 hours I will be on American soil. <br /><br />If you recall, my last post was pretty sunny, talking about all of the projects I had planned. A quick update: the girl's camp fell through but will hopefully be rescheduled. The art workshop was a roaring success, and my exercise buddy and I have been meeting sporadically. Summer school was...rough, but worth it. I've never taught kids that young before for any extended period of time. My students were wilder than I expected, and didn't learn their letters as quickly as I had hoped, but they did learn, and they had fun, and (most of the time!) I had fun, too. I'm definitely glad I did it. <br /><br />My reading home visits have been going well, too...I've been able to conduct them more frequently with my easier schedule, and I found a new interested parent to work with. Part of me wishes I could keep with my half-day schedule during the school year so I could work more with parents! I love teaching, but the goal of Peace Corps is sustainable development, and when I see a parent help her child sound out a simple word (something that I've never seen a teacher do here), I know that's happening, even if it's in a small way.<br /><br />As for finding a market for the ladies' baskets, some progress has been made, but we have a problem: no more internet in my village. (Long story.) We might get it back, but we might not...and I'm not sure how feasible it would be for the craft center ladies to communicate with a North American retailer without easy access to internet. At this point, I'm leaning towards ONWARDS!! and we'll cross the internet bridge when we come to it.<br /><br />My visit to Barbados was AWESOME...snorkeled with sea turtles, ziplined, stuffed myself with delicious food, drank fancy cocktails, ran on the beach, got seasick on a fishing boat, and got to spend time with my family. <br /><br />And then...Mom's visit to Guyana...slightly less awesome. Protests about increases in light bills in a town called Linden, about an hour from my village, turned violent when the police shot and killed three people. As a precaution, the US Embassy blocked the road my village is on for all American citizens. (My village wasn't actually affected at all—Linden is on the highway, we're in the bush!) Fortunately, I was allowed back home at the end of the week, but Mom didn't actually get to come to St. Cuthbert's, which was why she came to Guyana in the first place!<br /><br />We did go on a day trip to Kaiture Falls, a gigantic and beautiful waterfall in the middle of the rainforest. You can walk right up to the edge—no guard rails or anything, just a sign saying to stay 8 feet from the edge which the guides don't even pretend to enforce. Pictures don't do it justice.<br /><br />I have two more posts written, and they will post automatically on the next two Saturdays, so keep your eyes peeled!<br /><br />Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-36376013021657903612012-07-03T18:32:00.003-07:002012-07-05T18:36:38.110-07:00Projects!<br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white;">Several volunteers who served before me told me that the first year is the hardest, and that work especially comes easier in the second year because you have more connections, you know your community better, and it's easier to find projects that will really work. Unbelievably, I'm already almost three months into my second year, and as far as I can tell there's some truth in that statement. My first year of Peace Corps service was rife with project ideas that went nowhere. They were good ideas in a vaccuum perhaps, but not in practice because I didn't have the necessary community support. Now, I'm in the midst of starting up a few projects that will hopefully see some success!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Peace Corps Guyana holds a girls' leadership camp called Camp GLOW every year, and last year my host mom's niece, Breonie, attended. She's a very intelligent, motivated and mature sixteen year old, and when I got the idea to hold a Camp GLOW in miniature in my village, I hoped that she could help me with the planning and execution. Well, I announced the camp at the secondary school today and Breonie, Wendy (my host mom) and I have had several planning sessions. If all goes well, up to 20 teenage girls from St. Cuthbert's Mission will be attending a two-day mini-camp the first weekend of August. I'm trying to get as many girls involved as possible and also recruiting a few more women from the village to act as counselors. It won't be anything too formal, but it should be fun, educational and motivational for the girls, and hopefully it's something that could continue next year even if I'm not in the picture. I'm psyched!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Another project—baskets. If we're facebook friends you may have heard about this one. The ladies in my village weave gorgeous baskets and other items out of natural straw, but they sell at low prices...$10 US for a medium-sized basket that could take a woman 2 days to make. ($10 is about the lowest a daily wage gets in Guyana—you know, unskilled labour, police, untrained teachers...) Anyway, I think that these women deserve a real wage for their work, considering that it is NOT unskilled labour and especially because there are very, very few job opportunities within the village. The idea is to aquire a market outside of the US, and I'm currently in the process of locating potential retailers and researching shipping options. I've got a few leads, but this project is barely off the ground. If any stores come to mind that you think might be interested in selling these baskets, please let me know! (Or place an order directly through me! I'm coming home in August and will definitely have room in my luggage for a few extra baskets.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">School's ending this week, and while I will miss my amazing Grade Four students to death, I have plans for remedial summer school for the incoming first graders! There's mandatory nursery school (no kindergarten) in Guyana, so the kids SHOULD know their letters and numbers coming into first grade, but many of them don't. The goal of my summer school, which will be 12 hours a week for five weeks, is to get these kids primed for grade one so they have the best possible chance for success once they start their primary school education. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm also doing home visits with interested parents and students to help them with phonics. Private lessons aren't really something that I feel comfortable committing myself to—that's not my role—but if a parent shows initiative and is willing to work with their student during the week, I make myself available to coach that parent in different phonics activities to use for practice. I have 2 parent/student pairs who I'm meeting with weekly, and another two who I visit occasionally. This is another “not too formal” thing—seems to be the best ways to make many projects work here is to not get too caught up in formalization. I like visiting with the families for the social aspect, and am seeing various degrees of progress with the different students—but progress all around for sure!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Running-related projects: the St. Cuthbert's “marathon” (which is actually 11.5 miles, go figure) was about two weeks ago, and I had a group of kids (mostly ages 11-15) who I was coaching for that. It was pretty awesome to have about a dozen “regulars” plus another 10 or so who came when they felt like it, so that on any given practiceday I'd have about 15 students running with me. There was a 3 mile race along with the marathon, and all of my runners were amazing! I was the most awed by the second-place female finisher (I was first place :-) ) who managed to finish the race only five minutes behind me...that's about 9 minute mile pace for almost 12 miles, in 90 degree equatorial heat in the direct sun...she was 11 years old. Girl's a beast. Keep an eye out on the Guyanese Olympic track team for that one. Since the marathon, running's taken a different turn: I have a friend, Lorena, a few years older than me who's run/walking with me at the ungodly hour of 5:30AM (her idea, not mine) to get in better shape. We're trying to get some other ladies involved, and if we can get the interest up high enough, we want to organize a Ladies' 3 Mile race sometimes in the fall, probably. Once again—a project I have an enthusiastic local to work with. Win!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Finally, I can't really take credit for this but a woman I met through a Peace Corps activity is coming to St. Cuthbert's to do an art workshop for a week, and I've been helping her with the logistics end of things. Not really my project but trying to help her get the word out and set up different aspects of it has been keeping me busy for the past week or so.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But busy is good! Typing all of this out makes me feel...I don't know...productive? Useful? Like I'm “making a difference”? At the very least, I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job of making the best of my time here.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I have LOTS of things to look forward to coming up soon: a trip to Barbados in 11 days (!!!), and then my mom comes to stay in my village for the week! After that is my girls' camp, and on August 22<sup>nd</sup> or thereabouts, I'll be coming home for my friend Ashley's wedding! I want to see as many people as I can, but I'm only home for 2 weeks so I can imagine how busy it will be, especially with wedding stuff going on. Then back to Guyana and it's September and I only have 7 months of Peace Corps service left...wow. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-15672262971483348872012-05-16T19:31:00.000-07:002012-05-18T19:15:13.788-07:00In a nutshellI&nbsp;have been in Guyana for one year,&nbsp;three months&nbsp;and three days.&nbsp; I've been "adopted" by three different host families, spent innumerable hours laying in hammocks, and read something in the neighborhood of 45 books.&nbsp; I've broken three computers and a phone, developed a love for Banks Beer, and filled a journal and a half with the overflowings of my brain.&nbsp; I've befriended six Canadians, loved and lost six dogs, and learned to make a pretty damn good fried bake. I've eaten chicken feet, tecumah worm, gizzard, iguana, bush hog, and labba; I don't know how I will survive without pumpkin, roti, dhall puri, fig bananas and fresh pine. I've been within view of Surinam and Venezuela, become a better dancer, and grown a ridiculous amount of curly blonde hair.&nbsp; I've gotten some crazy tan lines, made a pointer broom, and heard both hurtful and hilarious rumors and half-truths about myself.&nbsp; I've come to enjoy washing clothes by hand, I've learned to wake up at 6:30 without an alarm, and I found a true friend in a housewife old enough to be my mother. I've discovered frogs, bats, lizards, a tarantula and a snake in my room.&nbsp; (The snake was in my bed.) I've learned to play trump, been beaten at Bananagrams by people who didn't finish high school, and gone on barefoot runs down a sand road flanked by two dozen children.&nbsp; I've cried a lot, but I've smiled more. I've taught children about planets and letter sounds and fractions and the continents, and I've taught adults about evolution and how to write a five-paragraph essay and that dinosaurs and humans did not, in fact, cohabitate the earth; but I've learned infinately more than that, about the importance of family, about how to relax and enjoy the present moment. I've learned&nbsp;that culture does, in fact, sculpt who we are, but that our cultural differences are not an end-all but rather a lens through which we can analyze who we are, what we can forgive, what we value and how open-minded we really are.<br /><br />There are few products but many processes.&nbsp; There have been many dead ends but&nbsp;other doors are&nbsp;still waiting to be opened, and I have 11 months to open them...I'm not done with you yet, Guyana!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-63578701534922616652012-02-26T18:32:00.001-08:002012-04-05T10:17:47.976-07:00Mashin' it Up, and gender relationships in Guyana<link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CKELLYC%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><smarttagtype name="country-region" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></smarttagtype><smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></smarttagtype><smarttagtype name="City" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></smarttagtype>Last Thursday was a much-needed holiday from school, Mashramani.&nbsp; Mashramani is <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Guyana</place></country-region>’s Republic Day, and the word means “celebration after hard work” in Arawak, which once was the native language of my village.&nbsp; (Today, Arawak is only spoken fluently by old people.)&nbsp; I had heard about Mash Day celebrations in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Georgetown</place></city>, stories of a parade, dancing and costumes.&nbsp; I decided to go and see what all the fuss was about, if only for the “cultural experience.”<br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This story would be better told with pictures, but since I do not have a camera anymore, words will have to do.&nbsp; I walked to meet the truck at 6:00 and was surprised to see that most of the 50 people waiting to go into town were secondary school students.&nbsp; A day with a bunch of teenagers…this could prove interesting.&nbsp; Our sleepy group piled into the back of Mackey’s giant army truck, and we began the two hour trip to town.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I had thought about trying to meet up with other Peace Corps volunteers in <place w:st="on"><city w:st="on">Georgetown</city></place>, but when we arrived I decided to stay with mission people, so as to ensure I would catch my ride back to St. Cuthbert’s later that afternoon.&nbsp; We were herded to the Ministry of Amerindian Affairs, and the feeling of being a sheep continued for a while...I followed people to a free breakfast, then realized that everyone else was joining the parade, so I would be, too.&nbsp; We trailed upstairs to a room where we were given hideous, ill-fitting costumes that merged traditional Amerindian wear with Mardi Gras style, and I doled out the “sun cream” I had brought to even the darkest-skinned among the mission girls.&nbsp; Even by 8:30, the sun was brutal, and we would be seeing much more of it later that day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">After another half an hour of scrambling around to get faces painted and towering headdresses stabilized, we were called to line up behind our float—the parade was about to begin.&nbsp; Our group, representing the Ministry of Amerindian Affairs, included well over 100 people, only some of whom were actually Amerindian. &nbsp;We were yelled at to stay in our lines and checked to ensure that our costumes were identical as our float and all of those behind it slowly started inching forward, music blaring.&nbsp; Last year, the Ministry of Amerindian Affairs was the winning float, and I think they wanted us to make a good showing again, though I had trouble seeing how costumes as repulsive as ours could win anything.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">At first, most of us were walking, though a few women were eager to dance and began “wining” as soon as we started moving.&nbsp; Wining is the seductive way in which Guyanese people dance, and it’s impossible to explain. The ability to wine seems to be bred into Guyanese people, since I’ve encountered many four-year-olds who are better at it than I am, and I’ve been told I’m passable.&nbsp; Wining is in the hips, but then, it’s in the legs and the waist too, and it can be done alone or with a partner.&nbsp; That’s “wining up on” someone, and it’s basically grinding. Wining up on a guy can escalate into daggering, which is basically sex with clothes on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">When the parade really got going, and walking through the streets turned to dancing through the streets, something I had half-expected started happening: the males amonth the group began moving throughout the lines, squeezing into spots behind a girl they wanted to dance behind…first just the brave ones, but eventually every guy was dancing with (behind) a girl.&nbsp; Call me prude or culturally insensitive, but I didn’t really want to be rubbing my butt into the crotch of some guy I barely knew while parading around the streets of <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Georgetown</place></city>.&nbsp; I set my boundaries, and they were challenged a few times, but fortunately the generous girl/guy ratio worked to my advantage and the sanctity of my personal space bubble was preserved as we danced through the streets of <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Georgetown</place></city>.&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">For hours.&nbsp; Man, by the end my legs were tired.&nbsp; I enjoyed people-watching from the inside, waving at people who grinned and pointed when they saw the white girl in the parade.&nbsp; I got quite a few pictures taken of me, some guy yelled “White Amerindian!” in my face, and I even got interviewed.&nbsp; (The next day some of my students said they saw me on the news.&nbsp; All innocuous stuff, What do you think about the parade, that sort of thing.)&nbsp; We reached a stadium at the end and circled in front of the judges as an announcer described the symbolism and significance in our costumes and floats.&nbsp; A shame, I thought, that this was the first time almost all of us were hearing about what our costumes meant;&nbsp; a shame, too, that in the group performing a choreographed dance in front of our float, there was not one Amerindian.&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">When we got back to the Ministry of Amerindian Affairs, we were exhausted.&nbsp; More free food, a bit of rest and gaffing, and then the party really started—free beer and liquor, more music, and we could dance without the constraint of lines.&nbsp; Whatever reputation I had gained as a man-fearing white girl lessened, at least, because I’m much more open to dancing face-to-face with a guy than to “wining up” on one.&nbsp; And, with a bit of drink and a lot of coaxing, I even opened up to that.&nbsp; It took some time, but I had a turning point where I recognized that cultural differences of what’s lewd and what’s not do exist.&nbsp; In <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Guyana</place></country-region> people don’t swim in bathing suits—they swim in their clothes.&nbsp; Bikinis are becoming more popular, especially among young people, but for the most part they aren’t socially acceptable, and they paint the wearer as lewd.&nbsp; In <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Guyana</place></country-region>, many people (granted, not everyone) will “wine up” on cousins, coworkers, anyone, and there’s not necessarily an assumption that it is anything more than dancing and having a good time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I am reminded of a trip to a bar with my good friend Michelle a few months before I left the States. (Shout out to Michelle, if you’re reading!) Michelle and her family are Haitian, devout Christians—and they love to dance.&nbsp; At one point, she and her brother were dancing in a way that was getting some sideways glances from others in this bar full of mostly white people.&nbsp; I couldn’t resist but whisper to the guy I was dancing with, “That’s her brother!” I remember laughing as his eyes went wide.&nbsp; No one would dance like that with their brother…no white person, at least.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I guess the moral of this story is, dancing is just that, dancing, unless someone wants it to mean more.&nbsp; And I still have to be on my guard, since as the white girl I’m a hot commodity here.&nbsp; (I watched as 4 different guys I danced with received thumbs ups or high fives from others dancing nearby.)&nbsp; Obviously I don’t want to be taken advantage of.&nbsp; Since I came to Guyana, upon the advice of Peace Corps I’ve been extremely cautious among guys, so much so that I’ve apparently earned the nickname “Little Miss Hard to Get” and have been accused of being sexist (neither of these to my face).&nbsp; It’s hard not to snub men here when they often treat me in ways that I see as disrespectful, or ways that make me feel uncomfortable, like “sipping” (Guyanese version of a wolfwhistle, more or less), catcalling or commenting on my physical appearance in public.&nbsp; I even had a guy I’d never met before tell me he loved me once (he was quite drunk).&nbsp; I’ve come to realize, though, that it is the Guyanese way to be blunt about physical appearances, whether that means telling someone they got fat if it looks like they gained a few pounds, or making it known if you like the way a member of the opposite sex looks.&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I do not intend to lower my standards or respond positively to people who make me feel uncomfortable.&nbsp; I am not entirely opposed to dating a Guyanese guy, but I would never date one who sipped at me, for reasons obvious to an American reader.&nbsp; I am, however, trying to avoid automatically labeling a guy who sips at me as an asshole and a creep, and instead trying to view them as someone who was shaped by a different environment than I’m used to.&nbsp; I’m also trying to appreciate the men I encounter who do treat me with respect, because it takes strength of character to adopt that sort of philosophy despite those around them doing otherwise.</div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-78092513325490403842012-01-18T16:00:00.001-08:002012-01-18T16:00:54.892-08:00Puppies and School<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> 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mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I came back to Guyana to bad news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Like I mentioned in my last blog post, I was immensely looking forward to seeing my grandpuppies when I got back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It was a little off-putting to see one of them sitting on the steps as my taxi pulled up to the house, because she was pretty scrawny looking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>No matter,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I thought, and greeted Wendy, my host mom, who had come to the car to give me a hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I couldn’t help but ask if they were all alive, and I got a worse answer than I could have imagined—“All but the mother.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">My Lady girl, born right around when I got to Guyana, my sole companion for my first tearful weeks as a volunteer, my running buddy, given up and reclaimed again because she just couldn’t stay away, was hit by a car on Christmas Eve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She died a few hours later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Her motherless puppies didn’t fare well after her death—they may have all been alive when I first returned, but the three scrawny ones all got sick and died within the week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The final two, the handsome Lazarus and Harry, both have new homes and loving 10-year-old students for their new mothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>For the first time in many months, I never return home to a wagging tail and never hear barking in my backyard at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Maybe one day I’ll have a dog again, but not in St. Cuthbert’s Mission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Keeping a dog healthy and safe in the bush is not an easy task, and I have enough responsibility as it is as a Peace Corps Volunteer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Speaking of which, onto happier things: teaching!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Our school was extremely short-staffed at the beginning of the term, so I was assigned my own class full-time, the fourth graders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I love ‘em.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They’re well-behaved, bright, and best of all, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i> enthusiastic about learning and eager to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Aside from the fact that I have to cater to reading levels that range between first-grade level and sixth-grade level, they’re easier to handle than any class I’ve ever worked with in the U.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They are constantly brightening my day by trying their best, doing extra work that I don’t tell them to do, working together in the groups I’ve placed them in even though groupwork is a foreign concept to them, and laughing at my dumb jokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>During a writing exercise I told them to write for a minute about teachers and one girl wrote “I like Miss Kelly and she like me too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And, on Friday, we talked about what we had done during the week and two kids independently told me, “Miss, you teach we good!” (Heh…maybe not so much with the grammar…)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Despite that, teaching was rough for my first week or so, because of the aformenetioned staffing problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There were several days when our school only had 3 teachers for about 180 kids (and I was one of the three).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Behavioral issues are bound to pop up when the teacher-student ratio is that bad, and pop up they did…but life at St. Cuthbert’s Primary has gotten easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Our headmistress, Ms. Bev, deferred her leave because we’re short teachers, so she’s back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She also talked to a woman who applied to teach a good six months ago whose paperwork still has not been processed by the ministry, and she agreed to start teaching even though she probably won’t get paid for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>And finally, a set of volunteers from Canada, four of them, will be living in the mission for the next ten weeks!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They just arrived a few days ago, so I haven’t gotten to know them too well yet, but they’re planning on helping out in the school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Looks like 2012 is going to be a good year for St. Cuthbert’s Primary School.</span></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-23070451988176846572011-12-31T13:01:00.000-08:002011-12-31T13:01:17.520-08:00HomeI've spent the morning lounging around my good friend's apartment in Philly, chatting with her and her boyfriend about education, philosophy, and superpowers. &nbsp;Our minds work similarly and I could not be more comfortable, and the part me that recognizes these facts dreads going to the airport in 36 hours.<br /><br />In the past 10 months, I have missed the ease of living within the culture I was raised, the high probability that I will find many ways in which I can instantly relate with those around me. I've missed having the option to be invisible if I want to be, missed being able to walk down the street without anyone staring at me. &nbsp;I've missed not constantly worrying about whether what I'm doing is culturally appropriate. &nbsp;I almost forgot what it was like to not have to judge every plan of mine in terms of its potential for&nbsp;sustainability. &nbsp;I've missed having clean feet, missed washing machines and hot showers, missed cheese and boneless chicken breasts. &nbsp;I've missed bagels and pizza and the beach, just like the Long Island girl I claim not to be. &nbsp; &nbsp;I've missed my adventurous, pretentious, brilliant, honest and funny friends.&nbsp;I've missed my loud, loving, bickering, wonderful family.<br /><br />Will it be hard to go back? Maybe. &nbsp;But a few minutes ago I looked out the window and commented on how early it gets dark here in the higher&nbsp;latitudes. &nbsp;I said, "Back home, it never gets dark before six." And then I caught myself--back home. &nbsp;Guyana is home. &nbsp;St. Cuthbert's Mission is home, Wendy and Benji's house is home. &nbsp;A part of me dreads getting on that plane, but a far bigger part of me can't wait to get home and surprise the people who have taken such good care of me over the past 10 months with American gifts. &nbsp;I can't wait to see how big my puppies have gotten and find them homes. &nbsp;I can't wait to start a few projects on my massive list of project ideas, fail though they may. &nbsp;I can't wait to lay in my hammock on my veranda and watch the sun set, can't wait to have a Banks beer or two with friends and share with them how refreshing my trip to the U.S. was, and how happy I am to be back.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-87687577647514884062011-10-08T13:04:00.000-07:002011-10-08T13:04:00.411-07:00A Day in the Life<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> 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font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On any given weekday morning I wake up without an alarm at 6:45, un-tuck my mosquito net and drag myself out of bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I lumber down the stairs to see what’s cooking for breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>If it’s bake and eggs or pancakes (“plax” as the Guyanese call them) I join my host family for breakfast, but if it’s fish or stew I make myself coffee and cereal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>For a while I was committed to my French press, but I’ve recently realized that instant coffee isn’t really all that bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s best drank with milk (powdered—no cows in St. Cuthbert’s!) and sugar (coarse brown Demarara sugar comes from sugar cane that’s grown and processed right in Guyana).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Wendy and Benji are often already bustling around the house and yard, working on their morning chores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Seven AM is late to get up in Guyana, even though almost no one has a job to get to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>After I finish breakfast I join them—maybe I start soaking a tub of laundry, finish up my lesson plans for the day, or wash wares (dishes).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>With any luck, I’m cold-water-showered, dressed and out the door by 8:15.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>During the five minute walk to school, I am often joined by some group of my students or another, and I’m always greeted by cheerful cries of “Good morning, Miss!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Between my summer school, remedial reading groups, my short-lived running club, and the fact that I’ve subbed for each class at least a few times over the past six months, all 178 students in the primary school know me, and I know them, easily 2/3 of them by name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lately, in the mornings, students often greet me by pointing out, “Miss, I am on time today!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(The wise guys in grades 5 and 6 say, “Miss, I’m late” with sly grins when they are clearly not.) For the past few weeks I have been enforcing consequences for lateness for the entire school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s a daunting task, but it’s preferable to watching our HM lash late students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I appreciate her willingness to allow me to experiment with an alternate consequence, which at the moment is copying the national anthem in after-school detention.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The bell rings at 8:30, and students in identical blue uniforms—shorts for the boys, dresses for the girls—hustle to line up by grade and gender outside the school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They say the national pledge and the Our Father and listen to any announcements that the HM and other teachers have to give. By 8:45 the kids are in their classrooms and registers are being filled out, and I’m taking the names of the last of my latecomers and preparing to collect my first reading group of the day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lions and Tigers and Rabbits, oh my—and all the rest of my reading groups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The morning is frantic, since I teach five groups for 30 minutes apiece, and my schedule changes daily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Throughout the day, I wonder how to deal with a 3<sup>rd</sup> grade Puppy who knows all the letter sounds but writes her letters backwards, a 5<sup>th</sup> grade Jaguar who can read the word “cylinder” but not “be” or “one.” One of my Lions, a fourth-grader, can’t read but is really quite bright, catching on to letter sounds quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Inevitably, he will stop coming to school regularly once his father leaves the village to work, as he does for a few months out of every year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Perhaps saddest of all are the students with severe learning disabilities that will never be diagnosed: a 3<sup>rd</sup> grader who must look back at previous pages in his book to see how to spell his name though he’s done it every day for years, a 2<sup>nd</sup> grader who rarely speaks and knows no letters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As I walk through the school to collect each new reading group, I see teachers struggling to make due with a lack of materials, teaching subjects that they are not confident with themselves, and sleeping on desks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I see teachers neglecting students in order to complete the paperwork the ministry drowns them in, leading their classes in recitations and drills, and attempting to teach two classes at once to make up for a coworker’s absence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It is difficult not to jump in and substitute when a teacher is absent, but I know that my reading lessons will make more of a difference in these students’ educations than a frazzled substitute teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I only cancel my reading lessons if more than 2 of our 5 teachers are absent, which does happen once a week or so.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When the bell rings at 11:30, I straighten up my reading room, jot down a few quick notes about how the morning’s lessons went, and go home to decompress over lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Living with a host family has made lunchtime less stressful—curried chicken or fish over rice is usually prepared and ready to eat by the time I get home, so I can eat and vent about my day to Wendy instead of worrying about cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My hour lunch break goes faster than I would like it to, and at 12:30 I’m back in school, filling in for whichever teacher is missing that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I only have one 30-minute lesson in the afternoons, so otherwise I’m free to substitute, a good compromise between addressing staffing and literacy problems at our school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I do this at my own discretion…some days I simply put a lesson up on the board for a class missing a teacher and then retreat to my reading room to do extra work with students from my remedial groups.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is October, and you know what that means—or, probably you don’t—school sports!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>School sports is sort of a cross between field day and a track-and-field meet for elementary school students, and it means we have 1-hour practices three days a week during school hours for the entire month, all in preparation for the big day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>There will be 60- to 200-meter races for students of all ages as well as a cycle race, sack races, 3-legged races and a tug-of-war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At 2:30, sports practice ends, and the staff and their sweaty, sandy student-athletes trek back to the school from the ballfield (cricket, not baseball!) and head home. I don’t usually go home right away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Between detention, staff meetings, and helping with the after-school literacy program and the community library, I am lucky if I leave by 3:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After school, I have a few hours of down-time unless I have clothes to wash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I might gaff with a neighbor or shop owner, take a walk to visit a friend or a student’s parent, or head to the landing for a swim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Other days I stay home to play with my dog (who may or may not be pregnant!), read a book in my hammock, hang out with my host family, or get a head start on the next day’s lesson plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just before dark I go for a run with my dog and whatever 7- to 14-year-olds care to follow me on that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That’s the only time it’s cool enough!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I usually run barefoot down the sandy road that leads from the main highway into the mission.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After I get home I bathe and change into PJ’s—pants despite the heat, so the mosquitoes don’t eat me alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The lights come on at 6 and it’s dinner time, and sometimes I cook, since Guyanese often eat light for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Last week I made fried bake with fresh tomatoes, cheese and basil inside—it was delicious! I have much more fun cooking when it’s a voluntary activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After dinner, I prepare lesson plans, and if I’m not too tired I might study for the GRE, write a letter, journal, or work on one of my secondary projects, like the Secondary School Entrance Exam Prep book that I want to create.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>9:00 is evening tea-time, and sometimes I join my family for a movie in the living room, but more often I take my tea up to my hammock and read myself into a stupor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Right now I’m working on Fast Food Nation, a great book but surreal to read so far away from American fast-food culture.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;,&quot;serif&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I try to be out of my hammock and safely in bed under my mosquito net by the time the lights go out at 10.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I click off my flashlight, snuggle with my stuffed panda and enjoy the breeze from my tiny motorized fan as the rustlings of rats that live in my room lull me to sleep.</span></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-30312499814991350732011-09-04T15:00:00.000-07:002011-09-04T15:00:21.617-07:00Here I am!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="&#45;-"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll get some things out of the way before I begin:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>First, my apologies for the lengthy span between posts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>From now on, expect a blog post to be up the first weekend of every month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I think I might have promised more frequent blog posts a while back, but I mean it this time, really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>If the first weekend of October comes and goes with no post, bug me on Facebook or something.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Secondly, I have decided to password protect my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>People in my village are becoming more internet savvy, and even though I don’t trash talk anyone in my blog, it still might be kind of awkward if any of them read it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Plus stalkers and stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’ll send out the password to people who I know read it, but if I don’t send it to you, email or Facebook message me for it, or ask my mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Expect it to be locked down within the next week or so.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, on to the fun stuff! I’m healthy again—well, mostly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The verdict was inner ear damage, and the ENT I saw said I could expect residual dizziness for the next year or so. I still occasionally get a bit dizzy after strenuous exercise or if I stand up too fast, but it’s nowhere near as debilitating as it was before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This summer has been a blast!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I designed my own summer school/camp for kids going into 6<sup>th</sup> grade, and they were a great group of kids to work with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>They loved playing Bananagrams and listening to me read them Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and some of them would even ask me for homework! I really hope my summer school met its goal—that is, to better prepare these kids for the Secondary School Entrance Exam so more of them can do well enough on the test to get a scholarship and attend a better secondary school out on the coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>But even if it didn’t, my kids and I all had a lot of fun!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was supposed to do teacher training in phonics this summer too, but that failed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Such is life—especially Peace Corps life.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My living situation has changed since I last posted!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I was having some issues living by myself here, both emotional ones (loneliness) and practical ones (taking care of a house and cooking for myself for the first time…with no TV dinners, take-out, dishwashers or washing machines…and rats and bats and giant cockroaches!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Long story short, I’m living with a host family now!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My new host family members are Wendy and Benji, a couple around my parents’ age, and Jade, Jason and Josh, three boys between the ages of 15 and 21.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The youngest son goes to school out of St. Cuthbert’s, and the two older ones work out of the mission as well, so the house is very rarely full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I love my new host family, and their house is awesome!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s huge, and I have my own veranda upstairs with my hammock on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s probably my favorite place in Guyana!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Oh, and then there’s the newest member of the family—my dog, Lady! I gave up on her months ago when she was a puppy (see “problems living alone” above) and gave her away, but she kept finding me again at Wendy and Benji’s house…so Wendy said we should keep her!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>She’s a family dog now, which makes taking care of her much less overwhelming, and she’ll stay here when I go home which will make both my life and her life easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Among the best parts of the summer have been travelling and visitors!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Shout-out to Lisa and Pat, who both made last-minute plans to come visit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Pat and I went to Oriella, a village right on the river that divides Guyana from Surinam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Oriella was JUNGLE, and beautiful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My second jungle trip was a week spent in Region 1, the Northwest corner of Guyana, where some of the volunteers I trained with live now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Kristen and Harmony and Travis were all great hosts (and great cooks!), and I loved getting to see their villages and going on hikes around a genuinely remote area of Guyana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Looking to the near future—school starts tomorrow!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We are not short two-and-a-half teachers, as I feared, only one-and-a-half or perhaps only a half!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Regardless, I am not playing substitute this term;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m teaching a remedial reading program, which I am quite excited about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My groups are all chosen and phonics teaching guides have been pored over, but it’s anyone’s guess what will actually happen once school opens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’m getting used to that quality of everything Peace Corps—the feeling of flying by the seat of my pants—and it feels more comfortable than it used to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Plans to come home for Christmas are materializing—tentatively, I will be home from December 13<sup>th</sup> to January 2<sup>nd</sup>. Between now and then…I love comments, Facebook messages, Skype dates, snail mail and packages, so stay in touch!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Miss you guys!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-64929404291525888332011-06-28T14:41:00.000-07:002011-06-28T14:41:16.644-07:00My Mysterious Jungle IllnessWord has probably gotten around to most of the readers of my blog, but for those who don't know--I'm sick.&nbsp; Not mortally ill or anything like that, but whatever illness I do have is very stubborn.&nbsp; It started with a fever, weakness, headaches and dizzness over four weeks ago.&nbsp; It seemed to resolve itself after about a week, but a few days later all the initial symptoms came back.&nbsp; Once again, the fever only lasted a few days, but the dizziness still hasn't gone away.&nbsp; I've been out of work for almost a month and have seen two doctors here, neither of whom were able to find anything conclusively wrong with me.&nbsp; My bloodwork came back completely normal, my blood pressure is normal, all that jazz.&nbsp; What's not normal is that I get dizzy every time I stand up, when I walk, if I look up, climb stairs, roll over in bed...you get the gist.&nbsp; The prevailing theory (prevailing in my mind, at least, after some internet research) is that the virus that I initially had (when I got the fever the first time) disrupted something in my inner ear, leading to what is known as <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=103463398">BPPV</a>.&nbsp; Supposedly this goes away on its own after two months...<br /><br />So, next steps.&nbsp; The second doctor I saw, when he couldn't diagnose me with anything, recommended that I be sent back to the U.S. to see a doctor there who can perhaps find something wrong with me. Peace Corps Headquarters needs to make this decision, and supposedly they met about it today.&nbsp; I should know what they're going to do with me by tomorrow, although I have a feeling that if they send me out of the country they'll send me to Panama and not back home.&nbsp; I'll update as soon as I find out what the deal is.<br /><br />To answer the most common questions I've gotten: Yes, I've been eating well, yes, I've been hydrating, and no, I'm not feeling stressed out or depressed.&nbsp; If anyone has any suggestions for how to keep myself occupied without electricity, I'm all ears, because after a month of being sick I'm kind of bored out of my mind.<br /><br />Miss and love you guys!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-12680848188259050322011-06-03T07:50:00.000-07:002011-06-03T07:50:47.750-07:00My SchoolIn St. Cuthbert’s Primary School, there are no walls. Grades 1 through 6 are seated in classrooms separated by chalkboards. Unsurprisingly, the school is loud. Teaching in this atmosphere takes some getting used to, and not just because of the noise level.<br /><br /><br />In theory, each grade has a teacher, but in practice this is far from true. <br /><br />The grade 1 teacher is wonderful—she’s an experienced, trained teacher who is from the coastal area of Guyana. She’s volunteering in a program that sends teachers to “hinterland” areas like St. Cuthbert’s that are notoriously lacking in trained teachers. She teaches her first graders phonics and spends extra time with them after school and on Saturdays to try and get them caught up to the level where they should be. Unfortunately, she is only stationed at St. Cuthbert’s for one year.<br /><br />The grade 2 teacher is currently on one month leave. In Guyana, after a teacher works for four years, she qualifies for one month leave with double pay during the school year. A nice perk, I suppose, but it causes some problems in a school system without substitute teachers. Fortunately, she will be back on Monday.<br /><br />The grade 3 teacher is currently enrolled in a teacher training college. This is good for the school in the long term, since only two other teachers in the school have any formal training, but for the moment it means Ms. S’s class has no teacher three days a week. <br /><br />The grade 4 teacher is also the headmistress and therefore my supervisor. The headmistress of a school is not supposed to have a class to teach as well, but the official headmaster is attending university, so Ms. B has taken his place while still teaching grade 4. As headmistress, she must travel out to town at least twice a month, sometimes as often as twice a week, to negotiate burocratic affairs with the Ministry of Education. On these days, her class has no teacher.<br /><br />The grade 6 teacher has decided he will work “out in the bush” this term. This is what most men in the community do for work. It usually means prospecting, for gold or other minerals, and it pays better than a teacher’s salary. Sir O does not plan to return to the primary school for at least a few years. <br /><br />The school has very few reading books and even fewer textbooks. There is no copy machine, no gym or music or art teacher, no playground, no cafeteria. (Both teachers and students go home for lunch.) <br /><br />There are general guidelines as to what should be taught to each grade for each term, but it’s a bit difficult teaching, for instance, addition of fractions to a class where many students still need to count on their fingers to add 2 + 2. And, how to teach prefixes with a list of words including “uncomfortable” and “displeased” when half of the class can’t read the word “please”? <br /><br />This is school. It’s a struggle, but on the bright side there is much room for me to make an impact. If when I got here everything was perfect, then there wouldn’t be much for me to do! As for what I’m doing—for a while I was floundering, trying along with whatever teachers were present to address the understaffing problem, sometimes teaching two classes at once. Staffing issues seem to have stabilized, so I am free to go on with my plan: teach the grade 3 class Tuesday through Thursday when Ms. S. is out at college, and conduct pull-out remedial reading groups on Mondays and Fridays. Currently, I am just doing diagnostic assessments to figure out what level the students are at. An analysis of the results will allow me to choose students for my reading groups and decide exactly what I will teach them. <br /><br />I am really excited to start teaching phonics! I never thought that I’d be excited about phonics, but that was before I was exposed to what Guyanese teachers refer to as “guided reading” or the “see-and-say” method—that is, simply memorizing “C-A-T cat, D-O-G dog,” and so on. Most of the students in my school don’t know what sounds any letters make. I aim not only to teach some of these students phonics in my remedial reading groups, but also to teach the teachers how to teach phonics. This will be one of my first efforts at what Peace Corps calls “sustainable development”—community changes that will continue on even after I have returned to the States.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-21280823920511007152011-04-07T10:18:00.000-07:002011-04-07T10:18:08.396-07:00Month two of training is almost complete!<div class="MsoNormal">Blogging once a month is nearly impossible, because there is so much to tell. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But, here’s a moment: I finish training early and spend an afternoon lying in the hammock on my veranda, reading and napping and watching the kissadees build their nest in the corner of our roof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>My host grandmother wove the hammock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Timmax, my host brother, is downstairs building a kite in preparation for Easter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>(They don’t dye eggs here, they fly kites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>However, I promised my neighbors an egg hunt this Easter!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Baby Queenie crawls out onto the veranda and pulls herself up to standing using the hammock, tells me cheerfully, “Ma ma ma,” as she tries to grab the book out of my hands.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Another moment: I walk to visit another Peace Corps trainee, greeting people I know (and those I don’t) along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>In Guyana, neighbors are neighborly!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>I gaff (Guyanese for chat) for a few minutes with a family sitting out on their porch, and they encourage me to stop by and spend more time with them in the future. A few nursery-school-aged girls follow me for a few minutes in their red-and-white-checkered blouses, holding hands and giggling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The novelty of having white people in town is slow to wear off for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>When I arrive at my fellow trainee’s house, she isn’t home, but her host sisters agree to take me to her grandmother’s house—her grandmother has a dog that just had puppies, and I want to adopt one!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I ogle the week-old puppies for a few minutes while Grandma tells me about the different kinds of fruits and vegetables she grows to sell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>The girls take me back to their house, where their mother hacks open a coconut for me to drink the milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>More gaffing, then I head home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">These moments are priceless:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When baby Queenie reaches out to me for me to pick her up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When TImmax’s eyes light up as I’m quizzing him on letter sounds and he gets one right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I’m walking back to training and two third-grade girls who I taught the day before run up to me and each one holds one of my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When a woman who I visited just to buy vegetables invites me into her home, gives me food and drink and tells me I must visit regularly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I cook, Guyanese style, and the results are edible and I can tell my host parents are proud of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I compliment a teacher’s shoes and she offers to take me shopping in Georgetown!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>When I walk into a shop where people are liming (hanging out), and I gaff with them and they laugh at my jokes—or, better yet, when they tell me that I’m a mission girl now!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">By a mission girl, they mean that I am a resident of St. Cuthbert’s Mission!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>That’s right—I’m the one lucky volunteer from our group who gets to stay at our training site for my full two years in country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>One week from today is our swearing-in as full-fledged Peace Corps Volunteers, and while eight trainees will leave St. Cuthbert’s for other regions of Guyana, I’ll come right back home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’ll move into a house of my own, only a few minutes’ walk away from the host family I’m living with now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>One of the many perks of staying in St. Cuthbert’s is free and readily accessible internet, so there is no reason why I shouldn’t be able to update this blog more frequently; say, once a week?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>At any rate, anticipate another post soon!</div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-81672652235032653752011-03-07T13:29:00.000-08:002011-03-08T08:31:04.826-08:00Two Weeks in St. Cuthbert's: A List<div class="MsoNormal"></div><ol><li>I have an amazing host family! Charlene, my host mom, is 25; Timor, my host dad, is 30; Timmax is my five-year-old host brother and Shaqueena—Queenie—is almost ten months old!&nbsp;</li><li>I am eating chicken, fried rice, curry, plantains, LOTS of fresh pine (pineapple), fish, bellange (eggplant) and pine tarts!&nbsp; I can make bake and roti, two different kinds of bread…with a little guidance at least.</li><li>I have no running water in the house, but a pipe pumps it into my backyard.&nbsp; That’s what I use for (cold) showers, washing dishes, and making tea—my family drinks it but I can’t be cause my body has no resistance to all the creepy crawlies living in it.</li><li>We have two dogs named Blackie and Brownie.&nbsp; Yesterday, Brownie peed on my leg.&nbsp; Maybe that’s his way of accepting me into the community?</li><li>Speaking of peeing…outhouses aren’t really that bad.&nbsp; Unless you get locked inside one, which happened to me once.&nbsp; Bobby pins and watches are good tools for escape.</li><li>Speaking of peeing, again…I have a pee bucket called a “tinny” that resides under my bed.&nbsp; It’s kinda awkward to use but preferable to braving the outhouse at 2AM.</li><li>We have generator-run electricity from 6PM to 10PM every night!</li><li>St. Cuthbert’s just got a computer lab a few weeks ago—incredibly good timing, no? Especially since that means wireless internet access in the youth center that we use as a training building!&nbsp; My host parents are both taking computer classes three times a week, and they’re really excited to practice their typing on my computer.</li><li>I have two hammocks in my house—my host grandma made them!</li><li>Aforementioned house is two stories, made of wood…downstairs is a big kitchen and a small shop that mostly just functions as a bar in the evenings. &nbsp;The bedrooms are upstairs--I do have my own room, but I only have a sheet for a door.</li><li>Timmax, my host brother, loves playing slapjack and listening to the Beatles on my iPod.</li><li>Queenie, my host sister, is crawling up a storm, and I’m fairly certain she’ll be walking before I leave.&nbsp; She’s also fascinated with my glasses, or as Timmax calls them, my “specs.”</li><li>Lizards hang out in my room at night.</li><li>I met someone with a pet anteater yesterday.</li><li>I’ve been to two birthday parties since I’ve been here!</li><li>My days start early…I run with some other trainees at 6AM most mornings, then I bathe, eat breakfast, and go to class at 8.&nbsp; I only have a five-minute walk to my classroom, which is a small cement building right next to the primary school (which means that the kids come and stare in the windows at us on their breaks).&nbsp; Training lasts till about 4:30, when I go home and help with dinner.&nbsp; By 9:00 I’m exhausted, and by the time the lights go out at 10 I’m usually asleep!</li><li>Training is on several topics: safety and security, health, cultural integration, and technical training in education.&nbsp;</li><li>I’ve taken the 10-minute walk down to the river to swim or bathe a few times with my family.&nbsp; They call the river water “blackwater”—it’s the color of strong tea.</li><li>The first time we went down to the river, we saw a snake! It was bright green and it swam across the river, and then my host dad beat it to death with a stick.</li><li>Next Wednesday, March 16<sup>th</sup>, I will find out my permanent placement…and then on Saturday I’ll go there to visit!!&nbsp; I am really, really, really excited to see the community I’m going to be living in for the next two years.</li></ol><br /><div class="MsoNormal">Twenty is a nice, even number, so I’ll stop here...I have to go home and cook pumpkin and roti!&nbsp;</div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-14630702941855178332011-02-17T21:55:00.000-08:002011-02-17T21:55:17.125-08:00I'm here!<div class="MsoNormal">This is huge, and I don’t even know where to start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I’M IN GUYANA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s Day 3 of training, and I’m sitting in an air-conditioned hotel room in Georgetown, the capital city and home to 1/3 of the country’s 750,000 people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>We haven’t been out of the hotel at all, except for a brief trip on a minibus to a riverside park for our water safety test.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Immediately we could feel the “fishbowl effect”—though some Guyanese people paid us no mind, others were videotaping us and taking pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>This will take some getting used to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I have to be up in five hours for breakfast, so I don’t have time for a long post, but good news: my training site, St. Cuthbert’s Mission, is classified as remote, but it DOES have internet access, at least during the four hours a day when the village has electricity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>It’s a small Amerindian (that is, Native South American) community of about 300 families where I’ll be learning about Guyanese culture by living with a host family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>During my eight weeks there, I will also have a 9-to-5 schedule of training activities, both in a classroom setting and through hands-on practicum experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>I even have homework! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">There is so much more to tell about—the awesome people that I’m training with, the delicious food (and constant supply of fresh juice!), the odd exchange rate (my living stipend is 40,000 Guyanese dollars a month, any guesses on how much that is in American money?), and everything I’ve learned from my sessions thus far and my conversations with the current Volunteers who are helping with our training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>However, these are things best discussed at hours other than 2AM, especially since tomorrow is a big day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>We’re moving from the hotel in Georgetown to our training sites, where we’ll meet our host families for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>Expect to hear all about St. Cuthbert’s in my next post!</div>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-44938307135249830612011-02-12T17:30:00.000-08:002011-02-12T17:30:51.268-08:00My Mailing Address<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I promised an FAQ's post, but the last week has been crazy and I don't know if I'll have time to write it before I leave. &nbsp;(TOMORROW!!) &nbsp;So, here's my mailing address so you can send me letters and other fun stuff!</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">Kelly Cahill, PCT</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">Peace Corps</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">PO Box 101192</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">Georgetown, Guyana</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">South America</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">This is only my address for my first two months in the country. After that I'll move from my training site to my permanent site, and my address will change. &nbsp;I will post the new one up here as soon as I can.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">It takes letters about two weeks to get from the States to Guyana, and about a month for them to get from Guyana to the U.S. So be patient, I will write back!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">&nbsp;</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">Make sure to write "air mail" on the envelope otherwise it will be sent even slower. Other info on mailing stuff through the US postal service is here:&nbsp;</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><a href="http://pe.usps.com/text/Imm/fh_022.htm#ep1403195" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://pe.usps.com/text/Imm/fh_022.htm#ep1403195</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;">Don't send me packages, it will be really, really expensive. If you must send me a package for some reason, you can send it through FedEx, DHL International, etc. instead of the post office, in which case you need to send it to the street address instead of the PO Box. The street address for the Peace Corps is 33A Barrack Street, Kingston, Georgetown, Guyana.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">That's all for now I guess, I've still got a lot to do tonight! I'm flying to Philly tomorrow for orientation and my emotions right now are all over the place. Thank you to everyone who has made time to see me these past few weeks, I will miss you all more than I can say.</span>Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-89698448518743057252011-02-01T22:14:00.000-08:002011-02-01T22:40:35.857-08:00The situation on the ground with 12 days to go...I'm in the process of constructing a thorough (and time consuming) "FAQ's" post, but in the meantime, I thought I'd share a few developments.<br /><br />I finally started packing!&nbsp; I have 90% of my clothes already packed in one suitcase, and it weighs less than 30 pounds!&nbsp; I'm glad, because the less my clothes weigh, the more my books can weigh...and the idea of going two years with only a handful of books in my possession is saddening.<br /><br />Speaking of books, another Peace Corps volunteer recommended an awesome website called&nbsp; <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.gutenberg.org" target="_blank">Project Gutenberg</a>.&nbsp; It's full of free ebooks that you can download for a Kindle or just to read on your laptop.&nbsp; The catch is, they're all books published before 1923, because the copyright has to expire for free distribution to be legal.&nbsp; Personally, I'm a fan of books with pages, but I do have those luggage requirements to think about....so this'll certainly do.&nbsp; I downloaded a dozen books, and I'm especially looking forward to reading Les Misérables and The Wasteland.<br /><br />Finally, I'm getting involved with a Peace Corps journal project called Snapshots of Service. Two journals will be mailed between 50 Peace Corps volunteers in all different regions, countries, and areas of work, with each volunteer contributing two journal entries over the course of their two years of service.&nbsp; It'll be awesome to receive that book in the mail and have the opportunity to read about the experiences of other volunteers.&nbsp; Who knows, it might even get published one day, or at least published as an ebook.&nbsp; You can read more about the project <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.pcsnapshotsofservice.blogspot.com" target="_blank">here</a>.&nbsp; My bio should be up on that website in a few days!<br /><br />That's all for now...keep your eyes peeled for my FAQs post, I should be publishing it by the end of the week.&nbsp;&nbsp; (And if you have burning questions that I should answer in that post, ask 'em! I like comments. Oh, and I like being followed, too. Thank you, followers!)<br /><br />P.S. I learned how to embed hyperlinks in my blog today!! Coding is fun.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3001465093242421586.post-83017867273629281332011-01-26T22:29:00.000-08:002011-01-26T23:04:55.812-08:00FIRST POST!!!Look, I have a blog! I never had a Livejournal back in the olden days, so this is new to me.<br /><br />I was tempted to make my first post entirely about my blog title and my indecisiveness on that front, but there are more pressing issues to discuss.&nbsp; However, I will say that I almost threw in the towel and called it "naming it is the hardest thing."&nbsp; If I ever write a novel I will not name it until it is finished, and if I ever have a baby I will just call it "Baby" for the first few weeks.&nbsp; You have to wait for something to grow a discernible personality before you can give it a name, I think.<br /><br />Anyway! Back on topic--Peace Corps! I am leaving in eighteen days (eep!) for Guyana, a small country on the northern coast of South America.&nbsp; Not Guinea. Not Ghana.&nbsp; And no, they don't speak Spanish--their official language is English!&nbsp; Their culture has been described as more Caribbean than Latin, and the capital and only large city is Georgetown.&nbsp;&nbsp; Temperatures range from nighttime lows of around 70 to daytime highs of around 90. Those are the basics--I will blog more specifically about the language (which I find really interesting) and other things as I go along.<br /><br />Preparation for departure is not too overwhelming yet.&nbsp; I bought some books, a new camera, a pair of really intense sandals, a Diva cup, a good rain jacket, and some dressy clothes suitable for teaching in 90 degree weather.&nbsp; I read "Reading for Meaning," which I'd recommend to any elementary ed people out there, and I'm almost finished with "Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle" by Moritz Thomson, which I'd recommend to pretty much anyone reading this blog.&nbsp; The author served in Ecuador in the '60s, right when the Peace Corps was starting up, and even if this isn't as relevant to your life as it is to mine, he's a damn good writer, and it's interesting stuff. <br /><br />Still to do: some paperwork to sort out and a LOT of packing...I'm allowed to bring 80 pounds of stuff, which seems reasonable to me.&nbsp; However, I'm in a facebook group with other Peace Corps Volunteers who are going to Guyana with me, and several of them are already entirely packed and over the weight limit.&nbsp; Makes me think that maybe I should start packing.<br /><br />High on my list of to-do's is seeing all my friends and family as much as possible.&nbsp; I received a lovely surprise this weekend when six of my college friends drove all the way out to Long Island to visit me.&nbsp; I had a blast, hugged and cuddled and (drank quite a bit) and talked and listened and overall basked in the warm feeling of being surrounded by good friends.&nbsp; And then they left and I was exhausted from staying up all night, so I took a nap.&nbsp; And when I woke up the house was dark and quiet for the first time in 24 hours...for the first time in a long time, really, since my brother had just left for college.&nbsp; It was then that I first felt a loneliness creep up on me, a loneliness that I think will be a common feeling during my Peace Corps service, at least in the beginning.&nbsp; Don't get me wrong...I'm excited, I'm ECSTATIC, like jumping-up-and-down excited at times, and my heart is entirely set on this.&nbsp; And, I've left things before.&nbsp; After high school I left the only home I ever knew, but, quite honestly, it didn't really phase me. Leaving hurts more now, not because I'm afraid of a new culture or poor living conditions or even because of the amount of time I'll be away from home, but because I value the people in my life more than I used to. Realizing that makes me appreciate the loneliness, for what a worse thing to never feel loneliness because I was never close enough with anyone to miss them.<br /><br />On a lighter note, one final point of interest: I'm training myself to like bananas.&nbsp; I've never ever liked bananas...once a cross country coach told me that I was probably performing badly because I didn't get enough potassium and I should eat lots of bananas, and I almost cried.&nbsp; However, yesterday I read in Living Poor about how there were periods of time when the author lived on nothing but bananas for days on end because they were the only thing to eat in his village.&nbsp; I'm eating a banana right now in preparation, and you know what, it isn't half bad.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00525708444097642142noreply@blogger.com4